Jan
21
WEEKEND UPDATE
I saw Cloverfield and now I know what that mysterious monster looks like and you don’t. Nyah.
Well, unless you’ve seen it too. In which case, welcome, Elite Monster-Viewing Secret Society Member. That thing was fucked UP, wasn’t it?
My moviegoing partners in crime were Mona and Ashley, who thankfully stuck out the entirety of the POV-shaking film with me, even though Ashley preemptively announced that she’d had to leave The Blair Witch Project due to all the camera movement and Mona has since confessed that during Cloverfield she wasn’t entirely sure of the fate of her popcorn container (Treat-Dispensing Box, or Useful Hork Receptacle?). I had my own moment right as the film began where I thought, oooh, should have brought Dramamine, but I got used to it pretty quickly and ultimately decided that’s what made the film so money, baby, it’s the fact that the camera is always swinging around and giving you tantalizing glimpses of the horror and mayhem and you’re absolutely glued to the screen because you want SO GODDAMN BADLY to see what’s going on.
Having seen I Am Legend and now Cloverfield in the space of a few weeks, I feel very strongly that anyone living in Manhattan should have a comprehensive escape plan in the event of 1) a plaguelike zombie-ish infestation, or 2) a large, building-destroying monster. Perhaps you could buy a helicopter or three, is what I’m saying. Although as both these movies have shown, a helicopter is by no means a foolproof means of escape . . . . hmmm. Personal jet pack, maybe? Speed-dial set to Sir Richard Branson? Cyanide tooth capsule for the worst case scenario (which in the case of Cloverfield, those of you who have seen it and also know about one of my personal phobias [no spoilers, now] can probably guess at which point I’d be chomping away for the sweet, sweet release of death — yeah, right about when that night vision revealed the you-know-whats)?
In other weekend movie news, this time from the Netflix category, I give two solid thumbs down to Sunshine. You may think, Danny Boyle and Alex Garland, how can it possibly go wrong? And the answer is, in many, many irritating, suspension-of-belief-stretched-beyond-all-limits and Freddy Kruger-ish ways.
PREGNANCY NEWS
Still pregnant. Whew, I guess. Except also: moooooooo.
SPEAKING OF PREGNANCY
After being totally inspired by these images, I searched around on Google for a Seattle henna artist, found one, and scheduled for her to come out to my house this afternoon and paint my giant belly. I’m weirdly excited about it and hope the results make for some good keepsake photos. I will of course share the outcome with you after I get some pictures, because I’m sure you’re just dying to see what it looks like when you henna a large white manatee.
TWO MORE DAYS
I have today off from work because it’s a holiday and so I only work two days this week. Then I go on maternity leave. This seems craaaaaazy and I keep wondering what I’m going to do with all this time off and then I remember: oh yeah.
WITCH’S TIT, COLD AS
The weather has plunged into unusually frigid temperatures — unusual for the mild Pacific Northwest, anyway — and I am bemoaning the fact that not one single coat I own can be closed over my protruding midsection. One of JB’s fleeces can be zipped up, but just barely — the sensation of being so snugly contained is oddly claustrophobic and I have to keep clawing it open to “breathe”. It would be stupid to buy a maternity coat now, so I’ve been making use of strategically draped scarves, which cascade down over my huge belly which sticks straight out from all of my too-small coats. This is just as awesomely fashionable as it sounds.
LASTLY
Can you believe I live with these nutbars? Man. And soon there will be three of them.
Jan
18
My friend Jen came over to visit this week with her son Theo — you may remember Theo from his internet fame as the Wii Baby, AKA the Child With the Most Infectious Laugh On the Planet — and the boys promptly went nuts, galloping around the house like very small but enthusiastic ponies. They plunged into the Legos, raced in and out of the play tent, and invented some horrific throwing-themselves-to-their-death game on the couch which involved a lot of high pitched shrieking and giggling and CLIFF DIVING while Jen and I hovered nearby wringing our hands and shouting “BE CAREFUL!” at children who had lost the ability to hear us as well as any sense of self-preservation their crazed little toddler brains may have initially contained.
I loved seeing Riley playing like that, even he did briefly morph into Psycho VonBatshit and earned himself a parental threat (“Do you want to go to your ROOM?” — feh, like that’s even a punishment, I mean what’s in his room? A CRAPLOAD OF TOYS THAT’S WHAT) to which he sullenly replied “No” while shooting me the sort of expression I thought was reserved for pissy teenagers. It looked pretty much like this:
Heh. JB is going to be so thrilled I posted that photo.
(Whenever Riley gives me that look in response to being disciplined for spitting, swatting, kicking, etc, I can’t help but wonder when it is that kids develop some good old fashioned fear of their parents’ wrath. You know what I mean? Not like you’re afraid your parents are going to hit you or abuse you or anything awful, but just that dreadful feeling of uh oh . . . Mom/Dad is going to be pissed. Because having my kid essentially give me a frowny, bratty eye-roll when I’m telling him, in the I-am-not-fucking-around Voice of God no less, that there is NO [INSERT INTOLERABLE BEHAVIOR HERE] ALLOWED, sooooort of makes me want to feed him to wild dingoes.)
Watching Riley and Theo basically jet off and do their own (vaguely suicidal) thing made me a little hopeful for our future with two children in the house. Man, I really hope that Riley and his brother enjoy each other in the years to come — and spend lots of time playing together, and concocting plots against their parents, and of course eventually bailing each other out of jail.
So, I have only one more OB appointment — not this coming Monday, but the following — before Operation STP Removal, which seems insane. I guess because I had Riley at 37 weeks, and this week will be my 37th week with this pregnancy, I feel like I’m in unfamiliar territory where I could suddenly, like, go into labor at any moment oh my god. Not that this will happen, surely, because hello I have a PEDICURE scheduled, among other things.
At this point my belly is large and frightening, and when I sit upright on the couch cross-legged, the bottom of my stomach actually rests on the cushion below me. Only a few of my shirts still fit, everything else is too short to cover the vast expanse of skin. It is truly amazing that the human body can be stretched to such mind-boggling proportions without splitting open like an overripe melon, you know? I might even be able to appreciate the physical miracle of it all someday, when I’m no longer waddling around with a 45-pound backpack strapped to the front of me.
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